


Bit of a Bugger

by Tallihensia



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, Of a sorts, Pre-Series, don't all agents meet in a hospital?, stubborness has a limit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7023082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallihensia/pseuds/Tallihensia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya wakes up in the hospital and knows that he’s done it again – alienated those who were supposed to be his allies.  At some point, he’s going to have to trust some one else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bit of a Bugger

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: none
> 
> Spoilers: none
> 
> Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams. This story was written for free entertainment purposes only and may not be reproduced for profit or altered without permission.
> 
> Notes: Not quite a very first meeting, but pretty close to it. A year or two before the series.

# Bit of a Bugger

Illya slowly came to consciousness with that peculiar stuffed-head feeling that meant he was on drugs somewhere. He hurt... he did hurt, but there was no immediate sensation of shackles or ropes. He would have to move, or at least shift around, to pinpoint the physical constraints more specifically and he wasn’t willing to do that just yet. Without opening his eyes, he took in a long, steady breath through his nose, evaluating the air. Cleaning solution. And distilled alcohol. He was in an infirmary or laboratory. Sadly, there was no way of telling friend or foe from that alone. He listened, but didn’t hear any distinguishing sounds.

“You’re in a hospital in Prauge,” came an unexpected voice. “You were shot during the mission and then drugged and worked over – it took us awhile to find you, sorry. Everything looks like it’s healing okay, though, and the doctors said that if you woke up in the next few hours it would be a sign. Don’t think they were expecting you to wake up quite this soon, though.”

Illya’s eyes shot open and he quickly surveilled the room. It was a fairly standard hospital quarter, giving weight to the words. The speaker was sitting in the far corner, where he had a good view of Illya and the door outside, and a side-view of the window. The window drapes were open but the inner shades closed, letting in filtered light without a direct view. The man held a newspaper to one side, as if he’d been reading it a moment before.

Nothing of Illya’s was immediately in view, but the dark-haired man was wearing a gun under his suit jacket – the slight bulge was recognizable, and he caught a glimpse of the shoulder harness as the man leaned forward, putting the newspaper down. He seemed familiar, but Illya couldn’t place him immediately.

The man smiled lightly and easily, perhaps in reassurance, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which reassured Illya not a wit. The person stood up and walked to Illya’s side. Illya couldn’t help his slight flinch at the approach. He was never at his best when helpless. The man’s eyes narrowed at the motion and he stopped where he was, not coming any closer.

Illya hadn’t planned to move, but the flinch did verify what the other had said. His upper right chest hurt tremendously, in what he recognized as post-surgery gun wound. There were other assorted pains, as well as a tremendous headache. This despite whatever medication he was on. But then, Illya had always tended to shrug off drugs more quickly than most. The benefits, or drawbacks, of a high metabolism. There was one IV bag attached to him, thankfully not more. Illya eyed it with distaste, wondering if he could remove the needle. Well, he knew he _could_ , it was the reaction of the doctors when he did such things that held him back.

“I know you don’t want me here,” Napoleon Solo said with a wry twist to his mouth. Illya had finally remembered his name and that he was on the good guy’s side, his own side at that. “You made that pretty clear. But we’re not near an UNCLE facility and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I asked them to send a Section Three over – he’s out having a bite to eat right now. I’ll...” the other agent’s voice hitched slightly before it smoothed out and he continued. “I’ll wait out in the hall until he’s back. You won’t have to see me again.”

Solo gave a slight nod, then turned and started to leave. He hesitated a moment, then looked back. “Good work there, Kuryakin. You had it all sewn up by the time we got there, half-dead as you were. There’s not a lot of agents who would be able to accomplish that. I’m... I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner.” 

He resumed his walk to the exit. Luckily, it was a large room, probably meant normally for several beds and not just one, and it gave Illya time to think.

The line about ‘made that quite clear’ gave Illya a strong indication of what was wrong. He’d done it again, hadn’t he? It would be easy, so easy, to just let the other agent leave, as all the others had before him. But he didn’t want to. It would be easy, but that didn’t make it right.

“Mr. Solo!” His voice came out in a rasp, and he coughed, feeling it shudder all the way through his being. Closing his eyes, he drew in his resources, blocking out the pains, the aches, the awareness of how weak he was. He drove out the mental haze by sheer will and forced the headache to one side. He would pay for that later, but for now, he needed his senses clear. 

When he opened his eyes again, Solo was returned to his bedside, a glass of water in his hand, which he then put on the dresser. 

“If you’ll let me...?” Solo waited for his nod before he turned the bed crank, raising the upper half slowly up. Illya slid slightly before things stabilized and he could settle into a semi-upright position. Not quite all the way up, but enough for a sip or two of the water.

Solo braced him lightly to help with the water, then quickly retreated a few steps. Not like he was scared, but more as if he wanted to not traumatize Illya.

Illya sighed. He really had done it again. He reached with his right hand and plucked out the IV needle from his left arm, holding a corner of his sheet to the spot where it had been. He just couldn’t deal with both it and people right now. Reduce the variables, then work with what was left.

The dark eyebrows of the other man rose at Illya’s actions, but he didn’t say anything, nor did he make any moves to fetch a doctor. That was a good sign.

“Mr. Solo,” Illya started again, his voice stronger this time. “Thank you for your timely rescue.” At least he presumed it had been. He really didn’t remember much of anything right now. “I...” In his own turn, Illya faltered. He’d never said these words to anybody before, and it was harder than he’d thought it might be. 

Solo tilted his head, those expressive brown eyes softening and intensely focused on him. The folds by the corners of his eyes crinkled up, though his lips didn’t move. He reached out briefly and touched Illya on his forearm, then withdrew.

People rarely touched Illya. Illya didn’t let them, and they didn’t. Solo... went his own way. 

Illya refocused again, taking a little heart from the touch, as light as it had been. It was still hard to say anything. He’d never said anything before. Illya took a breath in... and it went back out again without any words or sound. 

After a few moments, the smile that Solo was wearing only in his eyes faded, leaving the watchful agent behind. “Is it something about the mission?”

The lifeline was thrown out incorrectly, presuming on something else, but Illya grabbed at it nonetheless. It was something. Closing his eyes, he started a summary of events.

Another touch on his arm startled him and he instinctively struck out with the opposite hand before he recalled himself and stopped. It also made him lose his place in the debriefing. Illya opened his eyes to see Solo stepping ruefully back.

“You already told us all that, Mr. Kuryakin, when we found you. It’s okay.” Solo took another step back, holding his hands out slightly to one side, showing they were empty. Not that it meant much with a trained agent, but it was a gesture he obviously thought Illya needed.

Illya swallowed. He didn’t remember telling anybody anything, though he had rehearsed it in his mind so he could get the most important parts out when he’d made it to a communicator. Or a rescue team, apparently. He wondered how bad off he’d been. And just what on earth he’d said to the other agent. Never mind. He could tell from Solo’s reaction. “Mr. Solo...”

No use. He was too well trained, by himself, not to reveal any weakness or hint of weakness. He could just let it go. It wouldn’t be any different than any other time. However, he was with UNCLE now, and he was starting to get a reputation of eviscerating other agents in the field. It wasn’t what he meant to do, it was just how he worked. What was once a good thing was starting to become a liability.

Also... it had been a very long time since he’d had anybody watch over him while he was wounded. Illya studied Solo. The American agent was older than himself, but hadn’t been with UNCLE for much longer. He had the experience and the toughness that made a good agent, along with, it seemed, a certain amount of flexibility in attitude. He was good commander in the field, by reputation, and he’d stayed with Illya when he didn’t need to. This made Illya reluctant to just let him go without trying to explain.

The other agent was staying. Waiting patiently, and starting to relax again. He gestured at Illya’s arm. “You’ve lost enough blood for awhile, don’t you think?”

This was somebody he could trust. Illya was sure of it. The only problem was how to do that? Illya turned his attention to the needle hole in his arm that had started bleeding again. Or perhaps hadn’t stopped. He took a different corner of the bedsheet and folded it for pressure. Keeping his attention on that, and that alone, Illya forced any awareness of somebody else in the room out of his mind. He could say it, if it was only to himself. He, after all, knew his own faults. “I don’t react well to being scared, to being helpless.”

“None of us do.” 

The laughter in Solo’s voice made Illya look up in time to see the other agent’s lips twitch up as he finished. “That’s why we’re agents.”

“Yes, well... I’m a bit more of a bugger than most, apparently.” Illya let himself smile in return as he used the English expression. The next words came easier, if not easy. “I don’t know what I said to you, but I can pretty well guarantee it was caustic, mean, inappropriate, and completely devoid of anything approaching thanks or appreciation. It’s... I defend myself, when hurt, and I’m afraid it’s reflex. I apologize. Thank you for helping me, and... please disregard whatever I said.”

Solo frowned and Illya was suddenly afraid that the words of now wouldn’t be able to make up for the words of then, whatever words they’d been.

“You don’t remember?”

Illya shook his head. “In time, probably. Right now, everything is still a little hazy.” He nodded towards the abandoned IV bag, which was now dripping its contents on the floor. He kept the pressure on the former needle spot in his arm.

Solo’s gaze followed the movement and his eyebrows snapped down. “I’m a class one idiot. How could I have forgotten you just got out of surgery? Even as I was joking about it.” He stepped to the door and opened it briefly. “Please let the doctor know Mr. Kuryakin is awake.”

Returning, he gazed down at Illya, shaking his head. “You look like you’re ready to take out an entire satrapy all by yourself all over again. Are you always like this?”

To his great discomfort, Illya felt a blush stealing up his cheeks. He fiercely willed it back, thinking of dares young men make to each other when they’re young and foolish and romping around in snowbanks in their underwear, and how very, very, cold it could be when one was doing that sort of thing. To his relief, he felt the heat in his skin retreat.

Solo looked like he was still expecting an answer, though maybe not one to the precise question he had asked. His manner, though, was a great deal more relaxed than at any point Illya had seen it in the room, and he had approached close again. 

Forgiven and forgotten, that quickly. Illya marveled.

“Our enemies rarely wait until we are better,” Illya dryly replied.

A steely glint in the brown eyes accompanied a twitch of the lips, both in reaction to the statement. “No, they don’t. But I’m not the enemy.”

“No.” Illya agreed, and let himself relax back into the hospital bed, deconstructing the careful scaffold he’d built. One by one, the headache, the pain, the tiredness, and the mental fuzziness came back. He closed his eyes as he heard the door opening and voices coming in. He didn’t bother to respond. Solo would take care of it. He let himself go, knowing he could do so.

* * *

END

**Author's Note:**

> This was basically an idea I fleshed out and then abandoned. It's not where I'd quite wanted it to go. But... even if it's not where I was thinking, it's not totally worth abandoning either, so I decided to post it after all.
> 
> Original concept developed while watching the series and thinking that Illya really does have quite the sharp tongue on him, and it's never used more than when he's being rescued. He can quite cut his partner in two with those words sometimes. Napoleon retaliates sometimes, but other times (when it's the most serious), he just sits back and takes it. Now there's a true partnership! But it got me to thinking about just why Illya would be doing that, and how many people really would stick around for it more than once.


End file.
